


Effective Communication

by sunjolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunjolras/pseuds/sunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They speak with fists, but variation is always welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effective Communication

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to a questionable sountrack and ginger Feuilly is probably the greatest thing in the world.

Feuilly liked to watch Bahorel smoke. Behind the bar, shadows thrown long and dark by street lamps, a cigarette between his lips, he looked untouchably dangerous. Taking a short drag, Bahorel noticed Feuilly studying him and made his way over.

“Hey,” Feuilly muttered, wondering how a single syllable could be so awkward.

“Need a smoke?” Bahorel asked in lieu of an equally stilted greeting.

He shook his head stubbornly and crossed his arms, the empty cigarette carton in his shirt pocket crinkling loudly.

“C‘mere,” Bahorel said, rolling his eyes.

Feuilly was curious enough to move forward and let Bahorel tip his head up without any protest, his lips parting, Bahorel’s fingertips cool on his jaw. 

Then Bahorel breathed out and Feuilly tasted smoke, sucking it in eagerly. It flooded through him like an answered prayer. He held it in his lungs then exhaled on a contented sigh. His hands settled on Bahorel’s hips as he swayed toward him, silently asking for another. The second one felt just as good, buzzing under his skin and settling the ache behind his temples. 

The cigarette burned between them, wisps of smoke curling around their faces as they continued exchanging air, Bahorel’s shoulders hunched lower to meet Feuilly in the middle. Their lips brushed, warm and dry, and Feuilly forgot about the cigarette. It was almost done, anyway. 

A thumb on his chin coaxed his neck into a soft arch, baring pale, freckled skin. The surprised noise Feuilly made as Bahorel’s scruff dragged over his throat drowned out the sound of his boot grinding the lit cherry into the pavement. Teeth teased a sensitive spot under his ear, drawing out another shaky sigh. 

Feuilly ran his hands up Bahorel’s chest, tracing the studs and embroidery decorating his jacket, and pulled him closer by the lapels. Turning his head, he nipped at Bahorel’s top lip and chased the lingering hints of smoke out of his mouth. Feuilly felt lightheaded for reasons completely unrelated to nicotine. It had everything to do with the way Bahorel’s beard rubbed against his stubble and the way his tongue felt licking past Feuilly’s teeth.

When he finally pulled away, a strong arm wrapped around his waist to steady him. Feuilly glanced up at Bahorel and smiled crookedly .

“You could have just given me a cigarette,” he murmured.

Bahorel grinned.

“I know.”


End file.
